


(Un)suitable

by GamblingDementor



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cheating, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamblingDementor/pseuds/GamblingDementor
Summary: Some might have thought him unsuitable… They were of course incorrect.That naughty bit of The Last One You'd Expect, now in fic format.





	(Un)suitable

"Let's not discuss your honeymoon, shall we?" Monty whispers and Sibella wonders if his voice was always so seductive, even before his position, before he was a respectable gentleman.

 

"No," she replies in the same tone, their lips already brushing. "Let's not."

 

They don't mention Lionel's name again, of course, but try as she might, Sibella can't help the thought of him at the back of her mind. Oh, it's not a pleasant one, for sure. That hope crashed even as she said "I do". There is no fond remembrance of the husband she's left at home today. Every tender gesture Lionel had for her has died with his wedding vows and Sibella is resigned for a life of dull indifference at home, if she just has the fancy of Monty on the side.

 

"Oh, Monty…"

 

And yet. Yet, she can't help but shudder at the memory of Lionel's lips touching her where Monty's do now, as Monty's have a thousand times before, ten thousand. Unfaithful she may be, her whole heart devoted to the lover in her arms, but that is not for Lionel to know and she couldn't pretend a headache on the night of her own wedding. That excuse was for the next day, and the next, and Lionel got the hint quicker than she could have hoped. Still, the memory of lying there with the ugly grunts of his and his warm breath at her neck… She wraps her arm around Monty's shoulders, holds him tight. She never would have believed how much she'd miss him after just a few short weeks in Florence.

 

"Sibella, darling," Monty replies, the taste of the words a treat on her lips. "Has the Italian air made you this beautiful?"

 

"Don't be daft," she giggles, squeezing his arm. "I'm the same as ever."

 

"I swear," he says, his face burying into her neck − _not there_ , she thinks, _not like this, look into my eyes_ − pressing more kisses there, "that you have never looked half as pretty as you do today. Or is it the agony of not seeing you for so long?"

 

"You tell me," she says. "But kiss me first."

 

Monty smiles into her neck, she feels, the kisses trailing back to her mouth. His arm, which was at her waist, pull her closer, higher up onto his lap and his palm settles on her bottom almost obscenely if he hadn't done it so many times before.

 

"Your cheeks are very pink," he says between kisses and she feels the other hand tiptoeing along her thigh, a path it has taken before, that she knows by heart, Monty having perfected the art of touching just enough, just where it matters, and leaving her still looking like a proper dame. God knows the interruptions would have been deadly if he had been any less careful when they still exchanged the caresses of youth in her parents' home. "And your eyes have a glint to them. I hope you're very happy."

 

To see him, perhaps. Not so much otherwise. Sibella never would have believed that Lionel's charms would fade away as soon as their courtship was over. She used to feel at least some thrill to see him, excited to discover the new place he'd take her to, the new fancy he'd indulge in just for her. It seems the attractive, albeit dull young man who seduced her has turned into a bland husband she feels nothing but indifference towards. She has never felt indifferent towards _Monty_. Even as kids, she was always keen on him, though she'd never let it show. He was like her favorite toy, and grew into a trusted friend. Now more than ever, she doesn't know what she'd do without him. Bore herself to death in a cold house she can never call home, most like.

 

"I'm happy enough," she replies, "but I'd be much happier if you…"

 

He cuts her words with a deep kiss and his hand pushes between the folds of her skirts, fingers trailing back up the inside of her thighs. It's a tight shift she's wearing underneath − she ought to have planned this better − but there's always been room for Monty in her life and between her legs. He tickles a bit once he reaches her skin above her knee, prompting a giggle out of her, but he is soon to turn it into a moan.

 

"Oh, yes," she whispers. "Yes…"

 

How indecent has she become, to wear the expensive underwear her husband paid for only to let another man slip his fingers underneath and touch her like Lionel has never cared to. On their honeymoon, his business was done and forgotten in less time than it ever takes Monty to even start up on her. Sibella reckons she has a much better sort of celebration here with him. What Lionel doesn't know can't hurt him.

 

This can be their naughty little secret. It's not like that part of the situation is anything new. Monty and Sibella were meant to be, until she got it into her head that they weren't. He was the first boy she kissed, the only boy she let touch her before her husband. They learned everything together, how to find the pleasure their stupid teenage bodies were craving every hour of the day. Without her parents knowing, Monty and her were young, foolish lovers for years before the thought of marriage to anyone even entered her mind. God knows they had a great time then and just because Sibella got herself married to some rich bore doesn't mean that she'll forgo what she has with Monty. Two fingers up inside her, his mouth sucking on her skin where he knows no one will see, and certainly not Lionel who she won't let witness her sins, she is certain Monty will always be there for her.

 

"But you know, what I would _really_ like is…"

 

"Say no more, my dear."

 

He shifts her around to let her rest on the cushioned chair. A hundred times she sat in Monty's old house but his chairs or his bed were not nearly as pleasant as this seat. Wealth is suiting him, she thinks. The comfortable furniture is only an appreciated sidenote but Sibella has noticed what a better man he has become, the way he holds himself, the clothes he wears, the restrain he never used to have. Well, he's not showing much of it now either when he drops to his knees in front of her and his hands ride up inside her skirts, just enough space for him to play hide and seek underneath.

 

"Oh, don't tease!" She complains as Monty tickles the inside of her thighs and there is smiling in the kisses he trails behind his fingertips.

 

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies and again, always, gives her what she wants.

 

Sibella moans as soon as his mouth touches her, swirling around her in a pattern they've had years to perfect.

 

"Oh, Monty…"

 

It is all too easy, much too easy to have another man's name at her lips when those same lips swore faithfulness to her husband not one month ago. She can convince herself all she wants that this is Monty, her Monty, and that she is in all other aspects a most dutiful wife to Lionel, but then, Monty is not all like he used to be and she's not sure she can play the card of the childhood sweetheart. If she had met Monty today, she's just about certain that she would fall to his charms all the same, Lionel or no Lionel. They were meant to be lovers, but more than that forbidden lovers.

 

"Right there," she moans, hands gripping his head through the fabric − how does he not asphyxiate underneath, she cannot say. "Yes, _yes_."

 

He tries to say something but she doesn't hear it, too wrapped up in the pleasure he's giving her. There's nothing but him and his mouth and his fingers and Sibella closes her eyes, leaning back comfortably into the armchair, taking every bit that Monty is offering. If she pretends for just a second…

 

"Monty…"

 

Sibella is hard to please, or so the boys used to say, the ones she never let touch her. Monty never dared, and that was why she loved him the best. Back in their youth, she'd sometimes take so long that they'd be interrupted once or twice in the middle, promptly putting the many feet of distance accepted between them, trying to hide their blush and flatten her skirts, before getting back to it as soon as adults left the room until she had had enough. As a man, he is even more patient and she feels like every nerve ending of her has been teased and flattered by the time she feels the pleasure starting to build up to something. Biting her lip, she wraps a leg around him, pushing herself into him and only after accompanying her through the last of the last shivers does Monty reemerge from beneath her skirts.

 

"I am very glad you're back in town, Sibella," he tells her like a secret. "So very glad."

 

In the softness of the afterglow, she can only smile and gestures for him to stand before her so she can give back a fraction of what he gives her, but he shakes his head and asks her to give him the seat back.

 

"Why, Mr Navarro," she smirks as he pulls her back onto his lap, straddling him. She fiddles with the opening of his trousers but manages him out, giving him a quick stroke but he is already hard in her hand. "Very glad indeed."

 

"Not just for that," he says, kissing her cheeks, her neck, and he pulls onto her hips to line up with him. "Though for that as well."

 

She lets out breath she didn't know she'd been holding when he's finally inside her, grabbing onto him with all her strength. She never remembered Monty to have such firm arms, to be a haven of safety. There's many things about Monty she's only started noticing.

 

"Oh, my _darling_ ," he whispers against her ear, pressing half a dozen kisses on her skin.

 

She might be on top of him but the position is only an illusion, for Monty alone has the control of the situation. His hands tight around her waist, he keeps her in place and slowly, deliciously bucks his hips into hers, drives himself inside her where he belongs, and only him.

 

"Monty…"

 

His name was ever pleasing to her ears, but the tint of forbidden has grown so much stronger and she longs to say it over and over again.

 

"Have you been told how lovely you are?" He says and one hand finds its way under her skirts to complete the already perfect pleasure he's giving her, fingers toying with her like he always did. "Have you been told that you're the most beautiful woman in the world? That men should dip down to their knees to worship you?"

 

"Not enough," she says, her arms around his shoulders holding him close.

 

How very lucky Sibella feels to be in Monty's arms and good care. He might be the only person in the entire world that she trusts, and even then, not as much as she trusts herself, but he makes her feel like no one else.

 

"Make up for it, Monty," she tells him, panting from a vigorous thrust. "Show me."

 

This could have been her life. She could have been Monty's love and life, marry him, and she'd have moved into his lovely rich new apartments at his arm and they'd make love on a flower petal covered bed all day and all night. A second honeymoon right at home. How was she supposed to know that Monty would ever be more than a clerk or a mechanic, or whatever it was that he was living on before the D'Ysquith took to him and his pretty face. There's no point in living in regrets, not when Sibella can have at least this.

 

"I want you," he mutters and she's not certain the words were meant for her to hear. Louder, he speaks a dozen compliments into her ear, the warmth of his breath and his hold on her almost suffocating her, a delicious heat, "I want to see you every day of my life, darling, and show you how men ought to please you. I'll stop working or living if I can make love to you every day."

 

She hears not half of it, too caught up, too unrepentantly guilty, but the dulled flow of his words is the sweetest melody to her ears. She tucks her head into his neck and lets him do as he likes, breathing him in, biting her lip. She could have had it all. And yet she knows that, given the same insight, if she lived the same situation, she would have made her choice again. She couldn't have known. _I want you too_ , she thinks, _all of you_ , but she'll take secret trysts over no Monty at all.

 

" _Monty_ ," she moans and the name is more delicious every time she tastes it. "Monty, make me…"

 

"I'm here," he replies, his fingers trying to catch up on her, "I'm here."

 

Like a symphony ending in a satisfying coda, or maybe just like the two lovers they are finishing what they've started, Monty arches into her, a groan muffled into her hair. His chest heaves as he tries to catch up his breath, fingers frantic to get her to follow him and so she does with a sigh and holding onto him. Her body pulsing, she presses her forehead against him, their breaths one. She would so wish to stay here for a much longer time than her married life allows her. He kisses her then, slowly and deliberately, a kiss that tastes of possession, a nib at her lower lip, the kiss of a man who knows she'll come back again. She's not certain she appreciates that nuance, but it's gone as soon as it came as Monty softens in her arms and inside her, his thumb stroking her cheek gently.

 

"My dear Sibella…"

 

Like a man, he looks tired already and though he protests dutifully when she gets off him and puts order in her skirts, a brief passage in his bathroom to look the part of Mrs Holland again, he never leaves his seat except to tuck himself back in his trousers − how lucky that Monty has no servants as of yet, no one to catch Mr Navarro in such a state. She watches as he begins to snooze and she's tempted to let him sleep it off and sneak away while he's resting. He has been working so hard since the D'Ysquiths employed him, he deserves as much. But then, his mouth twitches in some adorable sleepy smile and her heart melts inside her chest. Who would have believed that he would ever come so far so fast? He looks like a boy in the big comfortable armchair that has christened her affair, but she knows now how much of a man he has become. How strong and reliable and determined. She never knew Monty could ever be any of those things. And if she had known, then would she have been ringing his bell this afternoon? She grabs his hand softly, squeezing it and the startle of him coming back to his senses is just about the loveliest thing she's seen.

 

"I must go," she tells him.

 

He grins like the boy she knew, pressing a kiss onto her hand.

 

"Will I see you again?"

 

She giggles, as if that was never a question.

 

"Of course!"

 

Going home to her husband is not agony, not near, but if she ever had the choice now… She supposes she must live with her mistake. Monty Navarro is nothing but the most suitable man. If she won't have him as her husband, then she might as well have him any way she can. As often as she can.

 

"Tomorrow?"

 

His boyish smile tells everything. Sibella feels the familiar fondness for him fluttering around her heart and returns the smile.

 

"Tomorrow," he nods.

 

Whatever is in store for them tomorrow or the day after that cannot come soon enough.

 


End file.
